


A Home Visit

by thevalesofanduin



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AU, Flirting, James can't work with computers, M/M, Q is a sucker for sexy voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, living in a society that is obsessed with technology and demands service 24-7 is not as bad a thing as Q – because Quinsely is a joke of a name, now isn’t it? – has always thought.</p>
<p>Not that he’s proud of his aspiring career in customer service but it’s turned out that while setting up a business is relatively easy, finding a clientele that pays for all of his bills not so much – not even when you’re a genius.</p>
<p>Or: Q is a computer call center employee working on Christmas Eve and Bond's webcam isn't working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Home Visit

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a belated Christmas fic... Oops, I tried!
> 
> Also please note that while I worked at a customer service I have actually no idea about computer service/hacking and that sort of stuff. So apologies if anything is wrong! Feel free to point out any things glaringly wrong (also goes for grammar mistakes).
> 
> Enjoy!

In hindsight, living in a society that is obsessed with technology and demands service 24-7 is not as bad a thing as Q – because Quinsely is a joke of a name, now isn’t it? – has always thought.

Not that he’s proud of his aspiring career in customer service but it’s turned out that while setting up a business is relatively easy, finding a clientele that pays for all of his bills not so much – not even when you’re a genius.

So he’s found himself a laughably easy job to pay his rent until his business can and if he sometimes uses the database to find may-be clients of his own, no-one has to know.

In the business of “legal hacking” networking – pun not intended but worth a giggle nonetheless – and ethics are vital for the survival of your company. So while Q could’ve easily hacked HSBC and “borrowed” some money to pay his bills, the prison-time attached if he ever gets caught will certainly ruin his business.

He has to say, however, that while working in the call centre itself is a job created by Satan himself – right there with slow internet and microwaved tea – it has provided him for the perfect excuse for Christmas with the family.

“I’m so sorry, Mum, I really can’t come for Christmas this year I’m scheduled to work.” Are so far the most satisfying words he’s spoken in his life.

It’s not that he dislikes his Mum all that much and hates Christmas – heck, he even has a tiny tree. It’s just that seeing his entire family always results in an interrogation about his lack of love-life – you should go out more, have you tried Tinder? – and his business – I told you starting your own business was a bad idea, you should’ve studied Law like your brother. And that’s before everyone gets drunk and starts fighting. It usually does start as a merry Christmas but ends a family fight of world-war proportions, thankfully contained in the small cottage his grandparents live in.

So he’s not at all unhappy with his Christmas-Eve graveyard shift.

Eve and Paul are good company – if, just like Q, completely overqualified for the job – and in agreement with their manager Mallory they’ve created quite the party. TL-lights turned off in favour of Christmas lights, carols playing loudly – Eve and Q taking turns in either singing along badly or grading the bad quality of the other’s singing – and they’re having chocolate milk with cookies.

It’s a “jolly good time” as Eve jokes and it’s not as if they have to worry about any calls coming in anyway because who would be desperate enough to call a computer customer service on Christmas Eve?

 

At half past ten, they’re contemplating opening a bottle of Champagne just for the heck of it when a call comes in.

It transfers directly to Q’s phone.

For a moment everyone stops talking, the ringing of Q’s phone almost a blasphemy against the backdrop of _Stop the Cavalry_.

“Sucks to be you.” Eve pats Q’s back.

For who is desperate enough to call now…

Q sighs and reluctantly wheels over to his desk, grabbing his headset. “Good evening, Kingston customer service this is Q speaking. Merry Christmas to you and how may I assist tonight?”

“My computer isn’t working.”

It’s a man on the other side with a deep voice Q would’ve considered sultry if the man could’ve at least bothered with a “hello”. Or, perhaps, an explanation of the problem other than what he’s just been told.

He could’ve bet his entire savings on the man’s computer not working before picking up.

“Quite unfortunate, Sir.” Q snips.

The man’s huff sounds slightly amused.

“What seems to be the problem?”

An exasperated sigh is followed by something that’s more slamming the keyboard keys than typing. “Everything is in Japanese.”

That’s it? Q thinks and the question “have you tried Google?” escapes. With almost no-one in the office, Mallory has certainly heard. Not very good.

“What part of Japanese did you not understand? I happen not to be fluent.”

“No, I meant on your phone.”

“My phone doesn’t have internet. Now can you fix my issue? I have an important call coming up in two hours and I’ll be dead if I miss it.” A heavy sigh and Q hears a glass being lifted from a table before he hears the man swallow – and well, with that voice, he does have a little bit of an image in his head he tries very hard not to see. “And the webcam isn’t working.” The man continues.

Q blinks and thinks how in this day and age someone can actually have a job where they’re important enough to have a call on Christmas bloody Eve and have a phone that can’t use 4G. Heck, even 3G would’ve been acceptable. Maybe Wifi. But to not have it at all...

“All right, Mister…” Well, he doesn’t know the man’s name, now does he?

“Bond.” The man introduces himself. “James Bond.”

“All right, Mr. Bond,” Q repeats, the name almost rolling off his tongue – because it’s a name that definitely fits the voice. “Why don’t you tell me what computer you have and what operating system it runs on so we can get you sorted for your call.”

 

It takes a whole five minutes before Q finds out that Mr. Bond has a Dell XPS13 – he’s only slightly green from jealousy – running on Windows 10 Enterprise.

It’s a terrible combination, a man who can barely find the on-switch on his laptop that doesn’t follow orders well.

Why he called the customer service in the first place, Q really wonders.

It takes another five minutes until the man has actually followed all of Q’s instructions – right click on the desktop, what do you mean what’s a desktop? – and the language is thankfully back to English.

Then Q starts on getting the webcam working.

After a few basic checks and questions it’s quite obvious he won’t be able to get anywhere with this infuriating man. He simply can not follow a simple order and while Q could fall in love from just that voice, he’d really like to get this call over with because Eve’s already sipping champagne and he wants some too, damn it.

After ten minutes, Q has to admit that aside from taking over the PC – which he’s been told is never a preferred option although it’s beyond him why – he’s running out of ideas.

So, in a last desperate attempt to help this man out, he goes for: “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

The reply, however unexpected, is immediate in a voice that Q is certain wasn’t this charmingly low and seductive two seconds before. “I can turn you on if you come over.”

There’s definitely a curl of heat in Q’s gut at those words because it really has been too long and bloody hell, that voice.

“I’m sure you can,” he purrs before he can stop himself – and that sound in the background could be Tanner chocking on some champagne.

The man’s chuckle is satisfying to say the least, even if Q might lose his job at the end of this call. “But the question remains unanswered.”

The man sighs ruefully, as if he’d forgotten why he was speaking in the first place. “I did, it’s done absolutely nothing.”

Q feels almost gleeful at the answer. There’s really only one option left and even though taking over someone’s computer is very restricted, it always gives him a sense of excitement.

Most likely because he can do so much more damage than anyone in the call centre thinks – except for Eve, of course. “I could take over your computer and see if I can fix the issue myself.” He offers.

“You offer now?”

“Apologies, Mr. Bond. It is unfortunately a last resolve for us as not all customers appreciate a stranger going into their computer.” Q explains, trying not to sound absolutely irritated – because honestly with most passwords easier to crack than a walnut, data-safety is an illusion and people don’t need allowed access to get data. It’s not the ones you allow into your system you should be worried about, after all.

It’s all going very well, Mr. Bond actually following Q’s instructions and Q can already smell the champagne when he tells Mr Bond to activate the Remote Desktop connection now that they’re in the correct settings.

The words “I can’t,” spoken in utter exasperation, however, bring an end to Q’s thoughts of champagne.

Q blinks. “Can’t how?”

“It asks for an Administrator password.”

There’s absolute silence on the line and Q feels like a proper idiot. It’s to be expected, after all, that an employee has no administrator rights to his work computer.

Especially not someone who knows nothing about computers in general.

“Well, fuck me.” He mutters and rubs the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses awkwardly up his nose.

“Maybe if you fix this.” Mr. Bond rumbles with a laugh.

It’s very tempting to quip something back, continue down this road of flirtation they’re on. But Q is at work and while he might’ve forgotten that all calls are recorded for a moment, he does remember now. With the looks he’s currently getting from his manager, this call will definitely be re-listened.

Best to save whatever’s left saving.

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why not?” Short, quick and demanding. Not the sort of question Q likes.

He knows very well that this is the point where customers usually get frustrated and – usually – a frustrated customer is an angry customer.

Q hates angry customers, it’s like all irrationality normally kept at bay inside people’s heads gets out when they get angry.

“Because there is no way I can take over control of your laptop from here.”

“Then you’ll just have to come to my place.” It’s a bit teasing, but just at the edge of Bond’s voice. The words, however, are very serious and Q has a gut-feeling that this is not an invite to a good shag but a real demand in order for him to fix the man’s computer.

It’s a ridiculous request and Q is sure it’s going up on their wall currently sporting the _Top 10 most ridiculous requests_ – they feature a different topic every month and their manager hates and loves it at the same time.

“I’m very sorry Sir, but I can’t simply pay a personal visit to fix your laptop.” Not even for that sexy voice, Q thinks just a tiny bit disappointed – he’d love to have met the man behind that voice.

A few chairs down, Eve laughs.

“Get me your manager on the phone, then.” Mr. Bond is quick to demand.

Q frowns, thinking that this man – no matter how sexy sounding – thinks himself way more important than he actually is. “My manager will say exactly the same thing.”

“Well, go ahead then.” It’s dismissive, the sigh following it making Q feel like a little kid in school.

He hates it when people ask for the manager.

“Mallory,” he calls out, letting his headset slide down to his neck.

Mallory sends him a somewhat suffering look, almost as if daring Q to finish his sentence.

Q just smirks and says. “He wants a home visit.”

“Bloody hell and that on Christmas,” Mallory mutters while putting down his drink and walking over to Q.

 

The moment Mallory greets Mr. Bond, Q gets some champagne from Eve and he happily sips it.

But while he expected Mallory to start telling the guy in that stern voice of his that no, my guy can’t come over to fix your laptop, that’s not how it goes.

First there is surprise on Mallory’s face before it’s a muttering stream of “yes” and “I understand” all the way down to the point where Mallory actually writes something down and promises “he will be there in half an hour”.

Q stands watching his manager with a gob smacked expression and he’s torn between downing his champagne or throwing it in his manager’s face.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Bond.” Mallory ends the conversation and that’s when he turns to Q. “You’re going.”

“Oh, come on!” Eve looks absolutely offended on Q’s behalf – the darling, always thinking he can’t stand up for himself. “This _has_ to be against some sort of company rules.”

“It is,” Mallory sighs and he _does_ look somewhat guilty when regarding Q. “But this man will move his meeting to tomorrow morning and I can assure you, he _will_ get us all fired if I don’t send you to fix his laptop.” When Q opens his mouth, Mallory holds up a hand. ”Don’t say you can’t do it. We both know your skills go way beyond those of the average employee in this building.”

Q huffs. “What you’re suggesting goes against way more than just company regulations.”

“It’ll be off record and I have Mr. Bond’s word he won’t tell a soul.”

Well, Q thinks, how much can it really hurt? Mr. James Bond _is_ actually important which means he’ll either get a shag or a future job reference out of this.

Could be worse.

\---

He feels like a drowned cat when he arrives at Mr. Bond’s flat – not literally of course, but it’s what he feels like after taking the tube and standing on the doorstep in this way too fancy neighbourhood in his weathered parka.

As he enters the small front-garden and walks up the three steps to the green front door he tries to catch a glimpse of the inside of the house through the bay window – not that he actually sees anything other than a white wall.

He rings the doorbell and shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting for Mr. Bond to open.

The door opens and Q bites his lip in order not to gasp.

Dirty blond hair, strong jaws and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. Bloody hell, this man is absolutely gorgeous – and then Q hasn’t even allowed his eyes to roam over what he can already see is a perfectly muscular body yet.

Q is not normally one to follow his dick around but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to get into bed with this man.

Especially since the man is smirking widely while taking him in. “Welcome, so happy you could come.”

Well, Q is definitely delighted he’d been forced to go because the man both looks and sounds like a wet dream.

“Anything to help, Mr. Bond.” He grins and looks up, straight into those piercing eyes.

“Please, call me James.” Mr. Bond – James – grins and beckons Q in.

As James closes the front door and Q shrugs off his coat, it feels more like the beginning to a date than it does to a work assignment. “Not a problem, James.” He says and, when he’s hung his coat, turns to offer the man his hand with a grin on his lips and an excited gleam in his eyes. “I’m Q, pleasure.”

James takes his hand and it’s not shaking hands because it’s all rough fingers stroking Q’s skin and it sends tingles up Q’s arm and down his gut. “The pleasure is all mine, Q.”

James’ eyes roam slowly and leisurely over Q’s body – making Q happy he wore his black turtleneck and skinny jeans today – and his thumb strokes Q’s before he pulls away.

It’s like there’s static in the air, a heat wave in Q’s body and if this is just giving the other man a hand than Q will be delighted at the end of the evening.

 

Q is lead to a spacious room, happy to walk behind James and check out a taut ass in a pair of slacks that seem to be painted onto the man.

He can’t help but tug his lower-lip between his teeth as they pass through French-style sliding doors into a spacious room. It must be the main living area with a grey corner couch on the left – next to the bay window – facing a fireplace with a TV mounted on the wall above it. On the right is what Q can only describe as a minimalistic dining area and a sleek, modern black kitchen – his messy place with books and gadgets everywhere must be a nightmare to James.

James waves for Q to take a seat on the couch while he himself is already halfway to the kitchen as he asks: “A drink? Perhaps I can offer you some champagne.” James pauses and chuckles. “Or eggnog, it is Christmas after all.”

“Eggnog I’ll only have if forced.” Q shakes his head, trying to sit down on the couch in a way that’s not letting himself fall down onto it but it takes a certain kind of person to sit down on a couch gracefully and suggestively – and Q is not that sort of person. “But I’ll have some Champagne. I’m not expected back at the office anymore, after all.”

He doesn’t mean anything with the comment – it’s more a spoken thought – but after the words have passed his lips he realizes what he’s said.

James laughs and it’s like rich, velvet honey, low and sensual in a way that sends a shiver down Q’s spine. His eyes are slightly hooded – Q thinks on purpose for James _must_ know how desirable he looks like that – and there is an obvious twinkle of desire in them. “Perfect. In that case I’ll be sure to bring the bottle along.”

The moment James has his back turned Q takes out his phone.

Eve has sent a dozen messages and Q is a bit worried about her state of intoxication.

So he texts her _stop drinking, honey_ because he’s a good friend – plus working at the centre without her would be a nightmare. Then, he sends: _ttyl, guy is bloody handsome_

He’s out of the conversation the moment James comes back and he carefully places his phone on a glass coffee table before reaching out to take his glass from James.

“Laurent Perrier.” James says it in French and it rolls off of his tongue easily, the words soft yet the voice they’re spoken in raspy in the most sensual way. He bows down slightly while handing Q the drink but Q only sees those eyes luring him in and that smirk he desires to kiss.

He has no idea who Laurent Perrier is and frankly, when he takes the glass from James and their fingers brush – and linger to stroke – he doesn’t care.

It isn’t until James sits down himself – not too close but certainly not very far away either – that Q feels like sipping – downing – his Champagne.

However, when he sees the pink, bubbly drink he’s been given he frowns.

James chuckles. “It’s a rosé.”

Q must admit he’s never known Champagne could come in rosé as well and with that perfectly pronounced French of James, he’s unsure he’ll actually remember tomorrow. He’s always considered himself quite hard-to-get but somehow, this man knows just how to push all the right buttons.

It’s delightful, Q decides and sips the Champagne which he finds is quite dry as one would expect from Champagne but there’s a subtle hint of fruit as well. It’s a very enjoyable drink and Q likes the feeling of the fizz in his mouth and when he looks at James to say he likes the Laurent Perrier he finds the man grinning at him.

There’s a few wrinkles at the sides of James’ eyes, drawn up in amusement and his lips in a satisfied grin. “You approve.”

Q can’t help but flush, hoping he didn’t slosh the Champagne around in his mouth so loudly James had actually heard. Although perhaps, if the man had, he wouldn’t be amused. “Oh yes, it’s very good.” He nods and takes another sip without taking his eyes off of James.

James watches him drink, eyes falling down to his throat as Q swallows and as he can almost imagine how James’ lips against his throat must feel.

Q breathes in heavily through his nose.

“How about you show me your notebook now, though.” He says.

James raises an eyebrow and without another words he’s up from the couch and on his way to take his notebook from his dining table.

Feeling he needs to do something to avoid completely deflating the electricity that seems to be running between them, Q says: “I want to make sure that it works at least. My boss will be very cross if I don’t do what you requested from me.”

When James comes back to him – notebook in hand – there’s a pleased look in his eyes and Q can’t help but grin.

“I’m sure you’ll deliver.” James says, his words honest but his body-language teasing in the way he leans too close to Q as he hands over the laptop.

Q laughs, finds an “I always do,” tumbling out of his mouth and if James doesn’t know he only means fixing electronics, well no need to tell him.

There’s a silence after in which Q opens up the laptop on the coffee table, sitting down on his knees in front of it for better access and he can hear James take a big drink of his champagne.

Q turns the notebook on and is about to turn and ask if James would terribly mind if he just quickly hacked his way to a solution when the man moves to stand right behind him.

Q feels a nervous flicker in his gut and it feels familiar in that annoying yet pleasing way one feels _before_ it all happens.

James, however, doesn’t seem nervous at all and it is perhaps a testament to the fact he’s done this before that he’s so bloody suave and enticing throughout it all. “And, what if I request other things from you?” James’ fingers at the nape of his neck – not stroking, just a pressure against his skin that seems to burn under the other’s finger tips – aren’t exactly subtle.

Not that Q minds for he leans back slightly into the touch without hesitation before leaning his head back. He grins up at James who is standing so close to Q’s back that his unruly curls brush the other’s crisp, white button-up. “Anything for an important client.”

Long fingers find their way from the nape of Q’s neck to his jaw, stroking the bone up to Q’s reddening cheek where they caress soft, supple skin. 

“Your boss can be happy to have you, such a service-orientated employee,” James muses and leans down swiftly and softly press a kiss at the corner of Q’s mouth.

It's ridiculous how much Q actually enjoys the small peck. It's a tingle that goes all the way down to his toes but perhaps it's anticipation rather than actual arousal.

He's always loved that feeling of anticipation, to look forward to times to come and he's convinced that with James they will be _good_.

"Pleasing you comes naturally," he says and when he sees the sudden hungry, lustful glint in James' eyes he turns back to the notebook.

Best to finish his work before James has him bent over the coffee table.

Q looks at the screen and, because he'd rather not get sued because he's over-eager to get the sex started asks: "So, you're certain you want me to fix this?” He turns to James - who has settled back onto the couch and is watching him with obvious interest, sipping champagne. "I'll need to... Mallory did mention it's all rather off the record, didn't he?"

James nods. "He did."

"Good. Because it's true and I'd rather not get in trouble with your company. We're a computer service, not a hacking service and to give you your access I'll need a bit of hacking. Your IT might not be happy although they'll never find out if you don't tell them."

James chuckles. "Let them find out and break their brains over it. Serves them right for closing over Christmas."

Q turns back to the notebook with a soft huff. "The world is supposed to stop at Christmas, you didn't know?"

James raises an eyebrow and challenges: "You're working."

"A convenient excuse to escape a third world war and dry turkey." He quips back.

James asks a few more questions about him and his family, some interested and others teasing, while Q works.

He must admit, it's one of the better secured notebooks he's come across and it takes him a full ten minutes before he's properly in and can turn on that bloody webcam.

By now, he's finished his champagne and is convinced James is sitting a lot closer than he was a few minutes before.

"So, how about we test this with a quick call." He offers because when it comes to his work he's always happier to be safe than sorry.

James seems to consider his options over a sip of champagne, grinning when he lowers the glass. "Sure. If you give me your number we can call that."

_Smooth_. Q chuckles and he can only oblige after that - James sort of deserves it now anyway.

When he enters his number and presses "call” James' knees are almost touching Q's back and he looks incredibly pleased.

Q's phone rings and James leans in closer, murmuring: "Go ahead, pick up and see if it works."

James' breath is like a warm gust stroking against Q's ear and Q shivers at how close James is. He still remembers what their "deal" is after all, so perhaps that's why he's so eager to check his work. He'd love to have that reward James has offered for a working webcam, after all. 

Although if they share another glass of fizz he's sure the sexual tension between them will end in bed anyways.

With a smirk, he reaches for his phone and - ignoring the gazillion texts from Eve - picks up the incoming Skype call.

With visual.

Well, at least Q can be assured he can do his job and when he feels James' nose rub against his neck he knows he'll get laid too.

"Satisfied?" Q's voice is a raspy murmur he hadn't quite intended to but James' hand sliding around his shoulder tells him the other quite likes it. 

"Immensely so." James' voice is low and husky, his knees touching Q's back with teasing pressure and his long fingers stroke Q's arm, tracking a curly path all the way down. "Let's celebrate with another glass of champagne."

Q licks his lips and when a hand finally settles over his, Q turns his up so he can stroke James' fingers in a slow and teasing rhythm. "What is it called again?"

Q feels hot breath ghost over his ear before he hears the chuckle. It sends little jolts of arousal through him and he leans his head to the right oh-so slightly, close to James' touch.

A kiss against his ear and a finger stroking up his side make Q gasp softly and his body automatically arches towards his source of enjoyment - which happens to be James.

"You just want to hear me speak French, don't you?" James lifts a hand to Q's face, fingers almost curling around Q's cheek as he willingly turns his head to look into James' eyes.

Eyes that are a shade darker than before, full with desire and promise.

Q turns almost automatically, drawn to James and pushed forward by the heaviness that seems to hang in the air. He's sitting in-between James' legs now and he leans his body against one leg while he slides his fingers up James' clothed inner-thigh.

"Perhaps," he muses, eyes trained on his fingers that draw circles on James' trousers yet inch closer and closer to the bulge in James' pants.

It's all tension in the air and fire under his skin and it's been a while since Q has felt this aroused with a bed partner without actually having reached the bed part.

What follows is James saying the sexiest sentence Q has ever heard in his life spoken in a voice that is a perfect, sinful murmur he knows he'll dream about for many nights to come. 

As it’s French, Q doesn't understand a word but James' eyes are half-lid, one of his big hands is tangling with Q's curls with teasing pulls and that language in that voice. Q can't help but groan and his fingers tighten against James' leg. "That sounds like absolute sin." He pushes himself up a bit, upper-legs now fully stretched so he can stroke his hands up James' chest - _bloody hell_ those muscles! He settles one hand in the curve of skin where neck meets shoulder while the fingers of his other hand follow the lines of a strong jaw. "But I'd rather you speak a language I understand."

"With or without words?" James asks, cocky grin on his lips and his eyes fall down to Q’s lips with very little subtlety.

For Q, that's it. The words, the smirk and the challenge all make him want to ravish James.

So he does.

He slides his hand from James’ jaw to the back of his head, drawing the other closer and leaning forward himself so he can finally kiss James.

It’s rough and needy with noses bumping and tongues stroking. Q pushes closer to James while James winds his arms around Q’s waist and all but hauls him up his lap. Q settles easily over James’ strong legs, an almost disgustingly embarrassing moan being huffed into the kiss as he bucks his hips and clings to James.

James strokes a finger down Q’s neck, his other hand fondling Q’s ass and almost desperately pulling the lithe body closer as they seem to devour each other with clacks of teeth and swipes of tongues.

It’s like they’ve been pining for months, a long lasting sexual tension finally resolved and yet that’s far from the truth.

It is, however, absolutely wonderful and Q is more than happy to suck a trail of kisses down James’ neck when the man takes a moment to catch his breath.

The muscles underneath Q’s hands are hard and he feels himself harden slightly more at the mere thought of seeing what he just knows is a Godly body naked.

And have it atop of him.

“Where have you been all my life,” he groans against James’ neck.

“I could ask the same,” James chuckles, albeit a bit breathlessly, a sneaky hand slipping underneath the hem of Q’s jeans and trousers, fondling naked skin.

Glancing up at James, catching the man’s eyes – with pupils dilated from arousal – Q can’t keep back an impish, teasing grin. “Let’s call it a Christmas miracle.”

“I’ll show you a Christmas miracle,” James grunts and suddenly he’s standing, Q in his arms and striding over to his bedroom.

Q’s so shocked and frankly, painfully turned on by the blatant display of lust and strength that he only manages to moan in reply, letting his forehead fall against James’ shoulder as he nearly comes from the mere thought of the sex that is to come with this man.

\---

Two weeks later Christmas has come and gone and Q has rolled into the new year after attending a New Year’s Eve party of epic proportions – although that’s what he’s has been told, all he remembers is a bottle of tequila and fireworks at some point.

What he _does_ remember is his night spent with James.

Hot, needy and intense. The man is a work of art both in looks and in bed and Q is very ready to admit it’s been the most mind-blowing sex of his life. 

The morning after was short with Q dashing out the door without breakfast, only to be stopped by James’ arm around his waist and his lips against Q’s. The sentence “thank you, that was amazing” spoken in James’ sexy, husky voice –a bit deeper and even more raw after their night of passion – hung in the air between them.

“Anything to please,” Q found himself replying and after a “good to know,” from James and another peck to his lips Q left.

He’d gone straight to Eve’s place where they had their customary Christmas brunch – with fizz, although not as good as James’ champagne. She’d asked and he’d happily spilled. 

Afterwards he’d been fool enough to half expect a call from James. He wouldn’t have minded, not in the slightest. In face if the man had given him a call he’d ask for where and when and would’ve made sure he was there. Because a chance to relive the best sex of his life again he’d take with both hands – plus James was bloody handsome and quite funny, but Q didn’t have a crush.

 

Now it’s a dreary Wednesday evening in January.

The kind where people stay inside because it’s both cold _and_ raining and when he glances outside all he sees is cars rushing by and umbrellas littering the street.

The perfect night for take-out and Netflix with Eve – just in the friends-only variant, not the _Netflix-and-chill_ thing that seems to have become popular because people can’t say “sex” anymore these days apparently.

They’re crowded on the couch with three pillows, a blanket and Q’s two cats, curry balancing on their knees as they eat and watch Merlin – because Q can’t possible watch Sherlock without getting annoyed and they’ve seen all of Dr. Who at least twice already.

Suddenly, Eve turns her sharp eyes to Q and he just knows what she’s thinking, what she’s going to say.

He sighs.

She ignores his silent protest with a pointed look. “If you don’t look up his number in the register at work, I will. You’ve been moping ever since the high of your best sex ever wore down.”

Q ignores the moping part of the comment – they’ve been over it before so why bother again? – and huffs. “And call him for what, a booty call?”

“If you want.” Eve shrugs and bumps her shoulder into his with a chiding look. “But you’re pining and it’s very unbecoming. Fix it.”

“I’m not pining.” He’s not pouting but he does cross his arms in front of his chest. Why doesn’t Eve just let it go? He’s not pining for James Bond, he just happens to think of the man a lot – but considering the sex, is that really so strange?

Eve rolls her eyes. “Of course you’re not.”

_He has my number._ Q thinks but doesn’t dare speak the words out loud. They show a very sad sort of hope he’s harboured ever since meeting James and he’s loathe to admit it even to himself. 

But before he can reply, his doorbell rings.

“Expecting someone?” Eve asks.

Q is unfolding himself from the couch – puts his curry on the coffee table, pushes Newton from his leg and tries not to get his legs tangled in the blanket – as he shakes his head. “No.” When he’s off the couch he makes his way over to his narrow, dark hallway, calling out to Eve: “I’ll be just a sec.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t feel like answering the door but with his business still in its first steps he can’t pass up any opportunity for new clients. 

And since he doesn’t know who on earth would come knocking on his door at nine on Wednesday evening, well, he’d better check.

 

He opens the door to find a lady on the other side – not quite elderly but her grey hair and wrinkled face say she’s not young either. She’s got sharp eyes, giving Q an impatient look and she’s wearing low, black heels and hopefully a dress of some kind underneath the expensive looking, grey woollen coat that comes all the way down to her knees.

Quite posh, Q thinks, and she doesn’t fit his neighbourhood at all – the floor in the communal hallway is littered in stains and the brown wallpaper peeling off the wall was once nice and flowery patterned. 

He wonders if she came by herself – she looks fierce enough but still – and then he catches sight of the figure lurking in the shadows.

James.

For a moment he stands frozen in his spot before his eyes sweep back to the lady in front of him. 

Well, she does look important enough to be James’ boss.

When he thought of seeing James again, it wasn’t quite like this.

“Hello,” he manages an overly-polite, very fake smile and if his fingers tighten around the door-frame it’s because he’s already imagining himself in prison.

“Good evening, Mr. Lloyd.” She greets, a hint of a smile on the corner of her lips and her voice is strict but not unkind.

“Ma’m,” Q nods his head, feeling a lot like either punching James or demanding the woman gets on with it already.

“Olivia Mansfield.” She states and then waves a dismissive hand. “But you may call me M, head of Six Security.”

Q nearly chokes on his own spit and he feels a bit faint.

Six Security, one of the leading companies in security that have profiled themselves on both personal security and information security market and have been rumoured to have been hired by even the Prime Minister.

And he’s hacked one of their laptops.

He rakes his fingers through his messy curls and now he _does_ sigh. 

He’s going to kill Mallory – if he ever has the chance – for this. 

Off the record, what a load of crap.

He finds himself looking at James, now standing closer and instead lurking behind M. His eyes are on Q, a slightly guilty look in his eyes yet an expectant smile lingers on his lips.

That bloody handsome face.

At least the sex was good, Q thinks almost angrily but totally not worth it if this lady is here to tell him they’re going to sue him.

“Well,” he manages and when M just looks at him, he sighs again. “Well. Why don’t you come in, at least.” He steps aside to usher both M and James into his narrow hallway, muttering: “Before Mrs. Harper comes out and calls the cops before you can arrest me. I’d hate to get a fine on top of hacking charges too.”

M raises an eyebrow and her lip quirks up a bit. “Mr. Lloyd, I can assure you we’re not here to sue you.”

“Q, please.” Q comments automatically, more a reflex than anything else. 

Then his brain actually _hears_ what M just said. 

“You’re not –”

“Q!” Eve’s voice suddenly echoes through the hallway. “The curry is getting cold and Turing is destroying one of your pillows.”

M looks amused at the interruption while James looks something that could be disappointment or jealousy, Q isn’t sure but there’s more important things to figure out than James’ feelings.

Like him _not_ getting arrested, for example.

“Kick him off the couch!” He calls back to Eve. 

James, meanwhile, asks: “Turing?”

Q rolls his eyes, people never know who he named his cat after, but of course with James’ ability with a computer he wouldn’t know who Turing was. “Yes, one of the greatest British computer scientists in history.” He tells James – quite proudly, actually, but then this is one of his cats.

M chuckles. “I would’ve bet he is an example to you, yes.”

Q lets out an embarrassed cough. For a moment he’d forgotten it wasn’t just James and him.

Then, however, the humour falls off of M’s face and deciding she’s had enough chit-chat, comes down to business. “Now, Q, as you might have guessed the security we put on our employees’ laptops is state-of-the-art. With the business that we’re in, anyone hacking _anything_ from our company can mean a lot of damage to our integrity.” She leans her head to the side and catches his eyes with an almost chiding look. “You hacked his laptop in record time.”

Awkwardly, Q scratches behind his ear not sure if he’s supposed to be flattered or afraid. “Ten minutes isn’t really fast.” He mutters, glancing down.

“Well, colour me impressed.”

Immediately Q’s eyes go up, slightly wide. The head of Six Security is impressed with something he did.

This might turn out to be not so bad after all, he thinks wistfully.

M crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You must realize that the head of an organization such as ours doesn’t _do_ home visits. But it’s very clear you have great skill and as Mr. Bond is now refusing to work together with anyone in our information security team that’s _not_ you.” She waves a hand in the air, looks quite fed-up with the situation – while James looks unbelievably smug – and then continues: “I’m loathe to give in, but James is as technical as a quick tortoise and I can not have my best man walking around without proper guidance. Which I can assure you, with your skills, will go far beyond anything your PI business can _ever_ give you.”

He must look like an idiot, standing there and just gaping at her.

“What do you say?” M asks, impatience in her voice and a demanding look in her eyes – she knows very well Q won’t say no.

Q weaves his fingers through his hair, thinks of pinching himself to check if this is real or not and the words “well fuck me,” escape him.

M raises an eyebrow – Q tries very hard not to blush.

Behind her, James laughs in that husky way of his. “Only if you say yes.” He murmurs, lust-filled eyes on Q.

Q is close to flinging himself to James. The man who has made this possible, the man who isn’t against sleeping with him again and also the man who receives a sharp elbow to his side from his boss.

“Try to keep it together while I’m around, Mr. Bond. I can find my own way home but I’d like an answer before I leave you two to shag each other.” M deadpans although she looks quite amused at the embarrassment on both men’s faces.

Q gets himself back together, looks at M rather than at James and promises: “Of course I’ll do it.”

M’s reply is interrupted by a crash, a very loud meow and Eve crying: “Newton, you fuckwit don’t eat the curry!”

And because he loves Eve too much to work without her and doesn’t want to leave her to fend by herself in that horrible call centre, he quickly adds: “One condition, though.”

M raises an curious eyebrow. “I’m sure we can manage that.”

“My secretary gets hired too.”

His secretary… Eve will kill him for sure.

But as M nods her agreement and James looks like the cat that got the cream, Q is certain it will be absolutely worth it.


End file.
